


This Bed Is On Fire

by theclosetalker



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclosetalker/pseuds/theclosetalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(or Whoever Said Lying Is the Most Fun A Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off Was Seriously Mistaken)</p><p>The many stages of Serena and Blair's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Bed Is On Fire

**Author's Note:**

> It's all AU. So, you know, Nate doesn’t exist, and Serena never had to leave.

Blair’s 6 when it occurs to her that she has a best friend and it’s way better than having a sister because she gets all the companionship and loses none of the attention. The only things she and Serena have in common are the matching silver spoons they’re born with and a silly notion that they need to be friends. Just because.  
  
Looking back, she’ll realize it wasn’t so silly after all.  
  
-  
  
Blair sees Serena naked for the first time when she’s 9 and a half. (Serena sees her, too.) Not naked like when they’d change together, in expensive underwear, but naked naked, in the pool at her mother’s country house.  
  
It’s the middle of the night, so things are doubly obscured, and she’s not sure what she’s looking at anyway, but it’s strangely exhilarating.  
  
-  
  
At 10, Blair overhears her parents talking about Serena; the phrase “bad influence” is thrown around, and Blair wonders what’s so bad about her; about sleepovers and pool parties and having _fun_. (Years later, in the bathroom at one of her mother’s parties, when Serena’s hand is up her skirt, Blair will finally realize what they meant.)  
  
-  
  
Blair's 11 when Serena (older and wiser at 11 and a half) asks her if she’s ever been kissed. Serena already knows the answer, so it’s not so much a question as it is a segue to:  
  
“Wanna try it on me?” Ever the resourceful one, Serena’s decided they should learn by doing, and Blair can’t seem to find any fault with that logic.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Meet me halfway?” Serena asks because it’s only fair. She leans forward and waits for Blair to close the distance between them; she does, pecking Serena’s lips softly before pulling away, and Serena looks at her disapprovingly. “It was supposed to be a real kiss.”  
  
“What does that mean?” Blair questions dourly.  
  
“It means we have to try again,” Serena tells her, already leaning forward. Blair sighs like she’s a little put out, but leans forward dutifully. Their lips meet again, lingering; when Blair opens her mouth to breathe, more than air slips in.  
  
“Um,” is all Blair can say for a while. Serena counters with an equally bemused:  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
-  
  
At 12, Blair learns firsthand what a restless sleeper Serena is. More often than not, she wakes up half-pinned to the bed, with a mouthful of blonde hair; she stares at the ceiling, silently counting to ten, waiting to fall back to sleep; waiting for Serena to move again, and sometimes she does and sometimes Blair has to shove Serena off herself.  
  
One day when Blair's 12 and four months, Serena rolls on top of her and right before Blair gets to nine, Serena shifts and her knee ends up resting heavily between Blair's thighs. It feels strange and a little uncomfortable and Blair squirms until suddenly it's strange and kinda comfortable and something else she can’t quite describe. Then Serena shifts again, rolling away from Blair and onto her back and Blair isn't sure how that feels. (When she's old enough to know better, she'll say it was disappointing.)  
  
By the time Blair’s 12 and a half, she’s stopped counting to ten; stopped pushing Serena away all together because she's gotten used to the feel of Serena’s weight against her stomach. It’s not long until her arm starts curling around Serena, actively holding her there, and their legs comfortably tangle together.  
  
Blair’s two months shy of 13 and half-awake when she feels something graze the side of her breast; she inhales sharply in surprise and the sudden movement is enough to make Serena stir. She curls languidly against Blair as she drifts into consciousness, unaware that her hand’s moving in a way that makes Blair's cheeks flare red.  
  
"Um."  
  
"Morning, B," Serena grins at her sleepily; she turns, burying her face in soft warmth, murmuring contentedly before realizing it’s not the pillow she’s breathing in, it’s Blair. "Am I crushing you? You know you can just shove me off."  
  
"No."  
  
"Are you protesting multiple syllables?" Serena smirks, highly amused by the absence of Blair's usual wordiness.  
  
"It's just - " Blair breaks off, unsure of how to put it. "You're kinda invading my space."  
  
"Sorry," Serena apologizes with a yawn, “I always do that.” She's fighting the urge to fall back to sleep and it doesn't occur to her that moving is a priority.  
  
"S," Blair tries again, "your hand is..." She trails off, deciding it's better left unsaid; instantly regretting it when Serena's hand flexes experimentally, fingers sinking into unmistakably pliant flesh.  
  
"Oh." Serena’s suddenly wide-awake, pulling her hand back like the satin of Blair's camisole is on fire; she rolls off Blair, propping herself up on her elbow. “I didn’t mean to grope you in your sleep.” It sounds so ridiculous that she can’t help but chuckle and Blair laughs too because everything about Serena is infectious.  
  
“It’s okay,” Blair tells her when they both sober; she’s not sure if it really is, but it seems like the thing to say. “We’re best friends, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”  
  
“Yeah,” Serena agrees; she looks thoughtful and then, after a long moment, she says, “it feels different, doesn’t it?” When Blair isn’t sure how to respond, Serena clarifies, “when it’s somebody else.”  
  
“Yeah,” Blair says, “it feels different.”  
  
-  
  
Blair’s 13 and at her annual sleepover when she gets her first taste of a gin martini on Serena’s lips. Kati dares Serena to pick someone to make out with for 30 seconds and Serena, flushed with alcohol and enthusiasm, chooses Blair.  
  
Serena kneels in front of her, leaning in, and Blair watches until Serena’s mouth presses against hers, and then her eyes flutter closed. (Serena’s lips are softer than she remembers.) Ten seconds in, Serena’s hands cup Blair’s face, deepening the kiss, and Blair lifts her own hands, her fingers delicately grasping Serena’s forearms.  
  
Fifteen seconds in, Serena’s tongue darts out teasingly and Blair moans softly in surprise; a few seconds later, Blair’s own tongue copies the motion and Serena murmurs her approval. Blair’s vaguely aware of the countdown _(5, 4, 3, 2, 1)_ and then Serena pulls back and there’s that unsettling feeling of disappointment again.  
  
It goes away a month later, when they’ve started making out in the dim light before Blair’s alarm goes off. It starts simple enough; lips pressed against Blair’s collarbone that turn into soft kisses; Blair’s hand skimming up and down Serena’s back, faltering momentarily as Serena’s lips trail up her neck. Then Serena’s mouth finds her chin and nips gently until Blair turns her head and their mouths meet; tentatively, then eagerly.  
  
It’s not until two weeks later, when Serena rolls on top of her and their hips buck together slightly at the contact, that Blair realizes they might be doing something indecent.  
  
-  
  
At 14 and three months, during what's supposed to be a friendly game of field hockey, Blair gets the wind knocked out of her. It takes her a couple seconds to realize it, but Serena's straddling her, pinning her wrists to the grass; she looks down at Blair with a triumphant smile and then moves off her, extending her hand to help Blair up.  
  
Later, when Blair’s 15 and they’re twisting together on her bed, Serena has that same smile on her face. She hovers over Blair, hair spilling into her eyes as she pins Blair’s hands above her head; as her thigh wedges between Blair’s legs.  
  
“S,” Blair whines breathlessly; she lifts her head off the bed, impatiently straining against Serena’s hold. “Come here.”  
  
“Not yet, Waldorf,” Serena grins down at her. She rocks back and forth teasingly, enjoying the friction of their jeans. But it's not enough; it hasn't been enough for weeks now and she brings one hand to Blair's waist, plucking open the top button.  
  
“What are you doing?” Blair asks, even though it's obvious; more obvious still when Serena lowers the zipper of her fly.  
  
“Trust me,” Serena tells her, scooting back until she's straddling Blair's knees. Blair gives her a dubious look but obliges anyway. She obediently lifts her hips when prodded and feels her jeans sliding down her legs; feels light kisses starting low and traveling upwards.  
  
When Serena reaches Blair's mouth, she rolls onto her side, settling down next to Blair. Her hand cups Blair's neck, pulling until they're kissing again, and then it wanders lower; over the swell of Blair's breasts, down her stomach (Serena can feel the muscles tighten under her fingertips; Blair's always been ticklish), to the waistband of Blair's underwear.  
  
Her fingers trail over the lacy material, drawing random patterns; when Blair shivers, she pulls back enough so their eyes can meet. Maintaining eye contact, Serena eases Blair's legs open and presses the palm of her hand against Blair’s center. The light touch makes Blair’s hips jerk up urgently; encouraging Serena to increase her pressure.  
  
"Oh God," Blair moans as Serena slowly starts to rub her. She grabs Serena's hand, nestled between her thighs, and guides her fingers in a more insistent rhythm. The flutter in her stomach that has been building for weeks is suddenly unbearable and Blair grinds into Serena’s hand, squeezing her eyes shut, and then, all too soon, she gasps raggedly.  
  
When she opens her eyes, Serena’s staring down at her curiously.  
  
“Did I make you come?” Not trusting her voice, Blair just nods; she briefly wonders if she should apologize because Serena’s looking at her weirdly, but then Serena laughs joyfully and that breaks the tension. “What was it like?” Blair smiles, her breathing still uneven, and presses her mouth to Serena’s.  
  
“Let me show you.”  
  
-  
  
Blair’s nearly 16 when Serena, in one of her moods, climbs up onto a table at Bungalow and starts dancing. Blair tilts her head back to watch as Serena sways to the music; it’s not long until Serena reaches out and pulls Blair up with her; not long until they’re doing something that could only loosely be called dancing.  
  
-  
  
A month after Blair’s 16th birthday, they’re in an abandoned locker room at school after another not-so-friendly game of field hockey, when Blair shoves Serena, hard.  
  
Serena’s back crashes against the row of lockers and she barely has time to protest before Blair's mouth is on hers, hot and insistent. Blair’s hips pin her there, as her hands skim the outside of Serena’s polo, cupping her breasts. Eagerly, Serena snakes her arms around Blair’s waist, hands quickly heading south.  
  
“Uh uh,” Blair chastises, reaching back to grab Serena by the wrists, guiding her back up.  
  
"You don't play fair, Waldorf," Serena protests breathlessly.  
  
"Says the girl who tackled me to the ground," Blair shoots back, hands now sliding up Serena's skirt. "Twice."  
  
"It's a contact sport," Serena tells her. Blair angles her head back and delicately raises a brow at Serena, a smirk playing on her lips.  
  
“Not that kind of contact.”  
  
“What kind?” Serena asks. It’s more of a reflex than a question because Blair’s trailing wet kisses down her neck and she can’t really think; can’t really do anything but breathe, and even that is a struggle.  
  
“This kind,” Blair says, wedging her thigh between Serena’s legs; pushing up until she feels wetness against her skin. When Serena lets out a ragged moan, she smiles victoriously.  
  
-  
  
Blair’s 17, about to climb into bed, when her phone rings on her bedside table. She looks at the screen and smiles when she sees Serena’s name.  
  
“You missed quite a game of truth or dare, S.”  
  
“Can’t say I’m sorry,” Serena chuckles softly. “All my dares lately involve clothing removal.” Blair smirks at that, brow raised teasingly.  
  
“Since when are you shy?”  
  
“Since never,” Serena tells her without missing a beat. “But I miss the days when a scandalous dare was to make out with you.”  
  
“Well,” Blair laughs easily, “the girls had to catch on eventually. It’s no fun daring someone to do something they’d do anyway.”  
  
“There goes any lingering hope I had that Is would dare me to go down on you,” Serena smirks.  
  
“S!” Blair mock gasps, too amused to be scandalized; then her voice lowers as she asks, “Want to come over?”  
  
“Blair Waldorf,” Serena says reproachfully, even as her lips turn up at the corners, “are you actually making a booty call? I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”  
  
”Sorry?” Blair offers with an unsure laugh because Serena’s always been easier to read in person.  
  
“You should be,” Serena tells her, voice stern even though she’s smiling, “for not inviting me up sooner.” She waits a beat for good measure. “I’m right outside.”  
  
“You are?” Blair asks, already heading for the window; she looks down and when sees Serena looking up at her, she smirks into the phone. “Who’s booty calling whom?”  
  
-  
  
When Blair’s 18 and about to graduate from high school, Serena pulls her into an empty classroom and pushes her up against the door; she hikes up Blair’s gown and reaches under until her hands cup Blair’s ass.  
  
“S,” Blair says breathlessly, laughing at Serena’s enthusiasm, “I have to give a speech in ten minutes.  
  
“I know,” Serena murmurs distractedly, pulling Blair’s hips against hers, “so we’ll have to make this quick.”  
  
“My parents are outside,” Blair protests, half-heartedly trying to push her away. “Your mother’s outside, your bro – “ She inhales sharply as Serena’s thigh nestles between her legs, moving back and forth; the reaction makes Serena smile and it weakens any remaining resolve Blair was clinging to. “Just try not to wrinkle my gown.”  
  
-  
  
The summer before Blair’s 19, she and Serena spend two months in Europe. It’s not so much for cultural enlightenment as it is an excuse to bar hop and sunbathe.  
  
Blair’s on her stomach, about to doze off, when she feels Serena straddle her and sit on the backs of her thighs.  
  
“S.” It comes out as a purr as a lazy smile forms on her lips.  
  
“B,” Serena says as she gently massages Blair’s shoulders; she leans forward and breathes into Blair’s ear, “I’m bored.”  
  
“Bored?” Blair echoes with a laugh. “Serena, we’re on one of the most gorgeous beaches in the world and you can’t find something to do?”  
  
“Well,” Serena says thoughtfully, as her hands slide down Blair’s back to the tie of her bikini; she tugs and it easily comes undone. “I’m sure I can find _something_.”  
  
“Serena,” Blair tells her sternly, “I’m not having sex with you on this beach.”  
  
“Who said anything about sex?” Serena asks, kissing her way down Blair’s back.  
  
“Isn’t that where this is going?” Blair twists, holding her top against her chest, until she’s on her back under Serena; her brow arches curiously and she struggles to bite back a smile. “Your top’s off.”  
  
“Is it?” Serena looks down, a crooked grin on her lips. “Oh, look at that. Wait,” Serena says suddenly, eyes on Blair now, “you already are.”  
  
-  
  
Blair’s 19, home for her first winter break, when the sound of Serena’s cell going off interrupts them.  
  
“Shit.” Serena’s breath tickles the inside of Blair’s thigh. She reaches into the back pocket of her jeans and stares down at the ID window.  
  
“Is it important?” Blair asks, propping herself up on her elbows. “You can go ahead and take it if it’s important.”  
  
“No, it’s…” Serena trails off, furrowing her brows. “It’s just this guy I know from Brown.”  
  
“Oh,” Blair’s voice raises an octave in surprise. “We can stop if – “  
  
“It’s not like that, B,” Serena interrupts her; she ignores the call and gently tosses her phone onto the floor. “It’s my roommate’s boyfriend’s friend; that’s how he got my number.”  
  
“Is he cute?” Blair asks but it comes out wrong; she’s finding it hard to be flippant when she’s naked from the waist down.  
  
“I have no idea,” Serena says absently, easing Blair’s legs back open; her breath is once again warm and heavy against Blair’s thigh and Blair’s head sinks back into the pillow. She closes her eyes and a soft moan escapes her lips as Serena trails wet kisses up her skin.  
  
“Maybe you should call him,” Blair says, inhaling sharply as Serena’s tongue swirls around her clit; her hands fist in the sheets and her hips arch up off the bed as she adds breathlessly, “you know, when you get back to school.”  
  
“You think so?” Serena murmurs distractedly; she slips a finger into Blair and when she hears Blair hiss _fuck, yes_ , she doesn’t care if it’s the answer to her question or not.  
  
-  
  
Blair’s 20 and a sophomore at Yale. She dates men because she thinks she should and women because she’s always been curious. It takes one date (one touch, one look) for her to realize that she isn’t attracted to Veronica for anything other than her blonde hair and broad smile. She fleetingly wonders if she should feel guilty for letting Veronica kiss her when she’s thinking of someone else, but Veronica pulls back suddenly and smiles at her in a way she can’t quite describe.  
  
“It’s okay,” Veronica tells her, “I miss someone, too.”  
  
-  
  
Blair spends her 21st birthday texting Serena who’s in France, a week into her semester studying abroad. (Blair knows better than to think Serena’s studying anything other than French wines and kissing.) Serena sends her a too-vague message ( _It’ll look better on you. Happy Bday. Love, S._ ) that Blair’s spent countless minutes trying to decipher and all she can figure out is that S was being infuriatingly cryptic on purpose.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Flustered, Blair looks up and Veronica’s hovering in the doorway, smiling at her; there’s a package in her hands and Blair feels her chest tighten a little in excitement.  
  
“Is that for me?” Blair asks calmly, resisting the urge to gesture eagerly for Veronica to hand it to her. Instead, her lips curl into a smile. “You shouldn’t have.”  
  
“I didn’t,” Veronica comments wryly. “My gift is the pleasure of my company. Actually,” she continues, ignoring Blair’s eye roll and offering her the package, “this just came from you.” Blair examines it carefully, frowning slightly when she sees that the writing isn’t in Serena’s chaotic scrawl; she lowers it unopened to the floor and looks up at Veronica, beaming.  
  
“Ready to get drunk?’ Blair asks, then adds with a grin, “legally, for a change.”  
  
Blair’s been 21 for all of nine hours, and drunk for half that, when she gets a call from Serena.  
  
“There’s my birthday girl,” Serena says. “I was hoping I wouldn’t get your voicemail again.”  
  
“Real funny message this morning, Serena,” Blair says dryly, forcing back the instinctive smile that forms at the sound of Serena’s voice. After doing the math quickly in her head, she realizes it’s nearly 7am in France and can’t bring herself to ask what Serena’s doing up so early. (She knows Serena’s not so much up as _still_ up.)  
  
“What do you mean?” Serena asks, confused. “You didn’t get my FedEx?”  
  
“No,” Blair says and then it dawns on her. “Wait, a FedEx?” She climbs to the edge of the bed and looks down at the discarded box guiltily.  
  
“Yeah,” Serena tells her excitedly, “I had it sent from New York, so I haven’t seen it yet. Is it as gorgeous as it looks on TV?” Blair’s brows knit together in confusion and she shakes her head even though she knows Serena can’t see it.  
  
“I haven’t opened it yet.”  
  
“Do it now,” Serena says sternly, “I’ll wait.” She listens quietly to the sound of tape being peeled off cardboard; there’s some crinkling as Blair rifles through the packaging and then the distinct sound of Blair’s breath hitching.  
  
“Oh, wow.”  
  
-  
  
Blair’s 22 and fresh out of Yale. She’s been back in New York for a week and hasn’t heard from Serena since Monday (four days ago) and she’s getting sick of playing phone tag. After stepping off the elevator, she presses the phone to her ear, and greets Serena’s voicemail warmly.  
  
“You’re still coming to Is and Kati’s wedding, right?” she asks and then chuckles nervously. “I’m not looking forward to going alone, there’s never enough alcohol at these events to accommodate everybody we know that has an undiagnosed drinking problem. Anyway,” she takes a deep breath, “when you get this, call me.”  
  
The town car pulls up just as she steps onto the sidewalk and she settles into the back seat while the driver packs her Louis Vutton in the trunk. She takes out her phone and selects Lily’s number from the contact list, gazing out the window as the line rings.  
  
“Blair, hi.”  
  
“Lily, how are you?”  
  
“Fine,” Lily tells her. “I’m on my way out to meet Eric for lunch.”  
  
“Send him my love,” Blair requests with a smile. “Have you heard from Serena? I’ve been trying to reach her to find out if she’ll be at the wedding tomorrow.”  
  
“Honestly, Blair,” Lily sighs, “I have no idea what Serena’s up to these days. Last I heard, she told Eric she was on her way to something called a Mountain Festival in Wyoming.” Blair makes a face at that. It's typical Serena to leave for an obscure adventure on a moment's notice; it's also typical Serena to leave and not tell anyone she’s going until after she’s back.  
  
A day later at the reception, Blair’s on her second glass of champagne when she sees Serena across the room, looking stunning in a short yellow Ungaro with curls cascading down her shoulders. She’s at the bridal table, saying something to Kati and Is and their respective husbands (identical twins) that makes them smile and sandwich her in a hug.  
  
When Serena turns around, she can’t make it two feet without being stopped; air-kissed, hugged, talked to. It’s not until Serena’s standing arm’s length away from Blair that she sees her for the first time, in a deep blue Stella McCartney with her hair swept up elegantly.  
  
“Hey, B,” Serena smiles easily; she cups the back of Blair’s neck, drawing her closer, and for a moment, it seems like they’re going to kiss, but Serena pulls her into a fierce embrace instead.  
  
“I didn’t know if you were gonna make it,” Blair sighs, clinging to her.  
  
“My flight got in late last night,” Serena tells her, stroking up and down her back soothingly, “and I overslept and had to get dressed in the back of the limo.” Chuckling, Blair pulls back to look at her.  
  
“That’s quite the mental image.” Serena’s blinding smile fades a little as she tells Blair earnestly:  
  
“I missed you, B.” The sincerity in her voice makes Blair smile and she brings her hand to Serena’s shoulder, idly toying with a loose curl.  
  
“Want to get out of here?” she asks and Serena nods vigorously. Blair grabs her hand and starts pulling her through the crowd of people; when they pass the bar, she feels Serena stop and tug on her arm.  
  
“Wait, wait,” she’s saying, reaching for an open bottle of wine; she laughs, pleased when Blair’s brow arches approvingly, and then lets Blair drag her through the double doors that lead outside to the deck. Blair stops to gracefully take off her shoes, watching in amusement as Serena nearly trips getting out of her Louboutins, and their feet sink into the sand as they run; not stopping until they’re far enough away from the party.  
  
They sit together, shoulders touching, and pass the wine bottle back and forth; when a few drops escape out of the corner of Serena’s mouth and drip off her chin, she looks down at her dress. (Thankfully, she had the foresight to grab a bottle of white.)  
  
“So, tell me about the ceremony,” Serena says, pushing the empty bottle halfway into the sand; she wraps an arm around Blair’s shoulder, letting Blair settle comfortably against her.  
  
“It was boring,” Blair responds, angling her head until she can kiss the underside of Serena’s chin gently. “And long. And you missed me.” The last part goes up in the end like a question, as Blair tries to guide the conversation to where her mind’s been for the past half hour. Serena exhales slowly and Blair doesn’t have to look at her to know the corners of her mouth are turning down in that way they do in a rare moment of sincerity.  
  
“You know I did, B.”  
  
“I know, but I was hoping you would…” Blair trails off for a moment, “elaborate.”  
  
“What can I say?” Serena chuckles because it’s not the first time Blair’s played coy to get her to admit something that should be obvious. “France was tedious without you and I kept wishing we were back on that Greek island the entire time?”  
  
“You did?” Blair’s brows shoot up.  
  
“Well, yeah,” Serena nods. “You looked really hot in your bikini. And out of it.”  
  
“S!” Blair gasps in mock outrage; she’s still laughing as Serena leans into her; pushes her down onto the sand.  
  
“I came back for this, Blair,” Serena says; her mouth hovers temptingly over Blair’s and her hand rests heavily on Blair’s stomach.  
  
“For sex?” Blair tries to be flip, but it’s lost to the insecurity in her voice.  
  
“No,” Serena says, shaking her head; she closes the distance between them and kisses Blair tenderly. Blair’s hands languidly skim over the fabric of Serena’s dress, reacquainting herself with the soft curves of Serena’s body.  
  
Serena’s lips trail down Blair’s neck and Blair arches into the weight of Serena’s body, moaning contentedly. A few moments later, when her eyes flutter open, she lets out a ragged gasp.  
  
“S, I see fireworks.”  
  
“Me too,” Serena murmurs distractedly against Blair’s shoulder.  
  
“No, S, look,” Blair says with a soft laugh, nudging Serena until she rolls off her.  
  
“Hey,” a smile spreads on Serena’s face when she realizes what Blair’s talking about. “Fireworks.” She rests her head against Blair’s and reaches over, lacing their fingers together.  
  
“That was really lame, you know,” Blair teases. “ _I see fireworks, too_.”  
  
“ _You_ started it,” Serena protests, flushing a little in embarrassment. “I thought you were taking dirty.”  
  
“I wasn’t,” Blair scoffs good-naturedly. She turns her head to look at Serena, who’s still gazing up at the sky; shadows flicker across both their faces as she says solemnly, “come to bed with me and I will.”  
  
-  
  
Blair’s 23, staring up at a dark ceiling, when she feels the bed dip beside her and an arm sling across her stomach as Serena unconsciously shifts nearer; she pulls Serena closer still, caressing her arm. Out of habit, Blair counts in her head, matching her pace to the cadence of Serena’s breath, warm and slow against her neck; she doesn’t make it past four.


End file.
